Shallow Thoughts and Abandoned Reason
by evilredmenace
Summary: Chris and Jill have a bit of a surprise for Claire... the aftermath of Biohazard continues. Leon and a few special guests make an appearance eventually. Chapter 4: San Francisco
1. the suspense

There were times when her own preferences seemed to astound her peers. Sucking on lemon wedges seemed to confound most, especially after biting into the thick pulp like one would an overripe orange... shrugging aside any further suggestion to style her hair, instilling her trademark ponytail as the more practical and therefore partial presentation.  
Then, of course, there were her cartoons.  
Certainly, she enjoyed a good dramatic piece of cinema. "Lord of the Rings" became a ready favorite. Yet whenever she plopped herself down in front of the tube, it became standard to have the late night shows of cartoon network on at an almost deafening level. Chris, well aware of his sibling's customary habits of old, did nothing to dissuade this behavior. Nor did he actively participate in a shared viewing. He was more of the sports, news, and The Man Show variety.  
"Cocks and jocks," as Claire fondly dubbed it. Thus, due to the differing tastes of the Redfield residence, it was agreed upon to segregate viewing areas. Chris held out for the den and adjoining kitchenette area, while Claire holed herself in the basement. Leon, in his infinite wisdom, christened the area with a dorm-style mini fridge that accommodated a six pack and a hefty dose of Hershey kisses.  
Despite the onslaught of umbrella and the malignant shadow it cast over much of their minds, the Redfield home front was as much of a station point of regrouping as could be said for the small band of refugees of Raccoon City. Having returned from Europe a mere eight months prior, the Redfield siblings had set upon founding a sort of meeting point for the remainder of their small band. Granted, Portland, Or wasn't exactly the focal point of terrorist activity, nor was it swimming in intelligence leads. But both Claire and Chris had spent a great many years of comfort growing to adolescence in said house. Never mind that the ongoing maintenance was growing astronomical. Old houses, no matter how sentimental, meant old pipes, old appliances. And bills. Bills bills bills.  
  
"Couldn't you just sell your body for a few weeks?" Leon had suggested. "Get some cash, cover your student loans, build your own methamphetamine lab?" And this coming from one self-proclaimed "ass kicker of justice" in the form of the local metropolitan police force. Yet the truth was doubly frustrating... not simply with struggling finances, but with the added futility of acquiring leads, and ascending to that crucial step to bring down the Umbrella corporation.  
Meanwhile, though the occasional minor bit of news reached them through Carlos's governmental contacts, STARS became a defunct organization, and no longer carried the ability to open doors. Chris found work in security, Jill as a translator, and Barry carried a stable job back in Vancouver BC, seemingly determined to disconnect himself from any further involvement.  
Leon, either truly dedicated or seemingly indifferent, continued to pursue the active life of a police officer. Though initially hesitant, he found work in suburbs of Portland, and reestablished himself a mere ten minute drive away. He made a pilgrimage to their forefront every weekend seemingly, blowing through the door with the reckless abandon of a surefooted occupant. He seemed to spend more time on Claire's couch than his own, though still conscious enough to inquire whether some trivial thing could be left overnight. Trifle things. A movie, a sweatshirt, a toothbrush for the nights when he passed out and had to rush.  
He had yet to take the hint that his presence was more than welcome, if not expected. There were times when Claire would wake for class only to find a sprawled and bed-mussed Leon wedged on her worn davenport. That brought back memories of more than year ago... Leon on a different couch, a sleeping girl slumped alongside him...  
A year ago.  
"Jesus H. Christ," she muttered, flipping the channel from CNN's Iraqi prison abuse scandals and her beloved cartoon network. Occasionally, there would be some bullshit story linking Umbrella to some terrorist organization a half a world away; the last one had gone as far to speculate on the a possible connection that the "biological disturbance" in Raccoon City was the product of diabolical schemes hatched by Osama bin Laden. Or was it Saddam Hussein? Claire was a little foggy on whomever the media's scapegoat was that week.  
After watching a good ten minutes of "Inuyasha," Claire heard the light and familiar tread of Jill's footsteps down the wooden staircase. It was close to 1am, but Jill had been working fairly irregularly of late. Still in her professional work attire which consisted of "corporate slut," executive power suit, Jill Valentine was every hot-blooded male's wet dream.  
"Don't you have school tomorrow?" Her voice was reminiscent and oddly parental in tone. Claire finally turned to face her, noting that she did look much older with her hair pulled back. The glare of the tv provoked the hollows and contours of her cheekbones, almost eerily.  
"Yeah, but it's a late lecture. Bio, plus a lab. I could shoot myself."  
"Ooh, one of those, huh? Hope they grade on a curve."  
"How do you think I passed last term?" Smirking, Jill eased onto the couch, helping herself to a bag of Doritos. Claire observed how poised she was even in relaxation. Perhaps poise wasn't the proper term... she just looked ready and alert at the drop of a hat. Or perhaps she's distracted. What the hell is she doing down here anyway? Not that she didn't mind the company, but it was Jill's custom to "greet" Chris when she returned home. Visiting the cave at one in the morning bespoke of something...different.  
Then, if to further boggle her mind, the equally familiar footsteps of one Chris Redfield became apparent. This time, Claire muted the screen, perplexed and a little taken back at the sudden intrusion.  
Jill, however, seemed to expect this. She delicately nibbled on another dorito, waving for him to join them on the couch.  
"What the hell is this, a damn convention?" Claire maneuvered enough to let her brother's considerable form fit alongside the couch. Instead of answering, he playfully positioned himself lengthwise, with his head resting on Jill's lap and his legs dangling on Claire.  
"Nah, we just wanted to see what you were up to. It's LONELY up there." Unamused, Claire pushed off his bare legs, consciously aware of how much hair he possessed. Jill chuckled, brushing off some imaginary lint on his shirt. The intimacy of the gesture unnerved Claire, but not so much that she could pin point the reason.  
"She has a lecture tomorrow," Jill informed him as if it were the most vital of information.  
"Oh yeah? How's that going?" Both heads looked back to the other end of the couch, focusing on the disheveled Redfield. Claire shrugged, smothering the impulse to not only return the sound, but increase the volume to undocumented levels.  
"It's fine. I have a mid term on Friday, and registration for Spring term is next week." She made a silent plea for the financial aid to go over smoothly. Last time, some smug bastard had given her trouble due to the fact that she had an unverified and therefore undocumented work history in the past year. How was she supposed to explain Raccoon City, and the subsequent aftermath regarding imprisonment on a military base in god knows where, followed by an unplanned "layover" in Antarctica, and concluded by a stint in Europe for the obligatory three months.  
"So you're going to be busy the next few weeks." It was a statement, and not a question. Annoyed, Claire pulled out her hair band and tossed it at him.  
"Yeah, I guess. But no more than I have been the last five. What is this?" This time she eyed Jill, hoping she'd get a straight answer.  
Then, as if to add fuel to the fire, the trodden steps of Leon followed suit. By this time, Claire knew that something was up. A midnight gathering of the masses could only be provoked by news... but the uninspired and lack of intensity seemed to dilute her fears. If this was something serious, wouldn't Chris have stopped flirting with Jill, or at the very least, have warranted something other than threadbare boxers and a t-shirt? 


	2. the reason

"Oh for Christ sake, just tell her already!" Jill exclaimed, exasperated. They had been at it  
for a good ten minutes, dropping hints, even going as far as to link arms with Leon in a clumsy  
mimicry of "The Wizard of Oz." Claire threw a pillow their way, effectively knocking over a cup  
of juice that had probably sat there for a fortnight. Chris dropped the act long enough to look disgusted,  
in which Jill took the opportunity to smack him soundly upside the head.

Sighing with mock severity, Chris finally let it drop.

"Jill and I decided that we're not getting any younger, or more attractive…"

"Oh, thanks."

"…Aaaaaaaaaaand, seeing as that we're probably not going to be participating in any epidemic anytime  
soon, we thought we'd take this opportunity to…"

"Sell Claire to a Nike sweatshop in Beirut?" Leon offered helpfully.

"Sacrifice pygmy goats in the name of the almighty Snufflelupagus?" Claire finally chimed in.

"Jill has decided to make an honest man of me. We're heading to Vegas, we're driving, and I already claim  
shotgun." Jill snorted, folding her arms over her breasts, but smiling as if it were the most natural thing in the  
world.

Claire felt like she had been run over by cement mixer. Not that it was entirely unexpected, but she certainly  
hadn't predicted the sort of carelessness and ease they seemed to project.

Certainly, the intensity of the last year had dwindled down to a minimum; so much so, that she had trouble  
recalling just how insane her little Umbrella vacation had been. Her memories of it were cloudy and vague.  
Mostly, she recalled the amount of emotional exhaustion spent in the aftermath… the pent up intensity that  
had at times, progressed into physical ailments ranging from mild panic attacks to severe insomnia. It took  
some time to realize that the paranoia, that painstaking self-preservation would not fade easily.

But this wasn't panic. This wasn't a new devastating conspiracy that would do its damndest to fuck with the  
world. This was her brother and his girlfriend finally deciding to find some element of normalcy, and they  
certainly deserved her steadfast support.

"Holy shit." She finally managed. Leon managed a smirk, adjusting the duffel bag in his arm. She noticed  
that they all seemed to be mildly prepared for departure… something she assumed that had been in the  
works and she had certainly been oblivious to it. Running a hand through her bed-mussed hair, she pondered  
the ramifications of a missed criminology midterm, but figured she could plead illness and hopefully make it up  
when they returned. She was getting quite good at the art of manipulation. "We're not doing Shotgun Pete's  
drive-thru matrimonial bliss, right?"

The open road: an often glorified and universal tradition. In this case, items, preparations, money, and what  
have you were packed haphazardly in Jill's year old Taurus. Tunes and munchies were dealt with in an  
expeditious and thoughtful manner. The rules were simple: driver had ultimate veto power as far as music,  
but the shotgun could dictate appropriate rest-area analysis.

Claire had always been a minimalist; it took her a good five minutes to pack, grab a textbook, and send a  
brief email to a fellow class mate, instructing her to take especially good notes. Though school could be  
put off occasionally, she was momentarily amazed that the three in her immediate facility had been able to  
leave work for however long this little trip would be.

"Won't la policia be missing you?" She poked a backseat companion, who had looked like her wanted to  
catch up on his consistent lack of sleep. "Since when do Vegas exploits go before truth and justice?"

"Since it has become necessary to pulling 18 hour shifts for the last two weeks," he chuckled, gesturing to  
the illuminated Portland city landscape. "This place will keep for a few days."

"Yeah. You could always bust a few illicit prostitution rings in Nevada," Chris offered.

"Prostitution is very legal, cowboy." Jill winked. "At least outside the city limits."

"Oh REEEAAALLY…" Chris popped in an old Radiohead mix, pulling onto I-5 south, ready to make the California border by dawn.


	3. the past

**

* * *

**

** Conversation taking place between 6 and 7 am:**

"Is that the ocean?"

"It appears to be."

"Mmm…"

"Nah… it's a hallucination brought on by red-eye driving."

"Did we decide on taking the scenic coastal route?"

"Mmm…"

"Will you knock that off? Can you not be conscious for more than five minutes?"

"I can't help it. The gentle rocking of the car lures me to…"

"HOLY SHIT! Was that a prison rodeo!"

"Chris, I thought we were taking the 5, and then heading east. You know, because

Las Vegas is in the desert."

"But I've never seen San Francisco. I thought we could make a pit stop in Chinatown, and…"

"But that's completely out of the way! Where the hell is I-5?"

"Claire, do you have to shriek like that?"

"Jill, how could you let my moron of a brother drive us a hundred miles off course?"

"…"

"Well?"

"…He bribed me with a croissant."

"You have FOOD?"

"That's the beauty of being up front. You get to design the route, as well as designate

the pit stops. You oblivious kids get to remain in a coma back there."

"Could you at least spare us the Yanni back here?"

"It's Pure Moods!"

"Pure crap, you mean."

"I kinda like it."

whack

"Ow… was that a cigarette lighter? You're such a violent girl."

* * *

Highway 101 had one thing in its favor: it was a truly beautiful drive, especially with the 

light of the sun coming up from the mountains, just barely catching the glare of the water.

However, as time would prove, it was an exceedingly slow drive, averaging a good forty

miles per hour on often windy passes and poor roads. After a time, Leon was only too willing

to take up the driving role once Chris reluctantly relinquished it. And, as habit would warrant,

Jill demanded to stop at every fruit stand from Ukiah to Santa Rosa, finally giving consent to

stop at a the obligatory McDonalds for breakfast.

Jill and Chris grabbed a seat inside, clinging to their trays in a reminiscent gesture of a long

forgotten childhood memory of cafeteria eating. Claire, having ordered the traditional egg-

Mcmuffin, glanced about to see that their driver was no where to be found.

"Where did our driver run off to?" She inquired, taking a bite of her hot, greasy sandwich.

Chris shrugged dismissively, his focus on the ability to cover every square inch of pancake with

gelatinous syrup. She smirked. "Jill will, no doubt, be proud to call you husband…she will enjoy

your OCD tendencies towards the art of pancake consumption, and your powers of observation

are unparalleled."

"I think he may be taking a call, Claire," Jill made a subtle gesture towards the outside doors.

She turned to confirm that Leon was, indeed, outside with his cell, leisurely pacing the parking

lot with a cup of coffee.

"At 8am? Jesus…that kid is ambitious…" She was about to continue on that train of thought, but

was suddenly struck by something. "Hey… by the way… I know the general gist of these

shenanigans, but you guys never really outlined the idea behind all this." She took a sip of her orange

juice, her gaze on the eerily familiar gray eyes of her brother. "I mean, you guys just plan on getting

hitched and moving back to the homestead? Are you going on a world tour, becoming carnies, and…"

"Fulfilling our grand scheme of world domination through a lucrative career in the rural entertainment

business? I knew there was a reason you were going to school." Chris took an immense bite out of

his hotcakes, chewing thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you would support the theory that we finally

realized our undying love and appreciation for each other, which has prevailed through much adversity…"

"Trials and tribulations," Jill added.

"A vortex of relentless evil and…"

"Potential sexual tension through other suitors?" Claire offered.

"HA! Not on my watch!" Chris illustrated his point by dropping his plastic spork on his well-scraped carton.

* * *

There was a time, he thought bitterly, that he would not have had any of this. The playful but often crude 

banter with his sister. The warm, almost cliché domesticity that he hadn't even known he wanted. Jill

Valentine at his side; his cohort, his companion, and his best friend enmeshed in one. When they had

finally returned to the states, he was prepared to dedicate the rest of his life to grim vengeance… tracking

Wesker and seeking out the ultimate destruction of Umbrella. He had made such a promise after the

mansion in Raccoon City… that come hell or high water, come unlikely success or eventual demise,

he would annihilate Wesker and his fucked ambitions, and expose Umbrella for the deranged lunacy

that it allowed.

The problem was, he had left. And in his absence, the two people that he had thought he was protecting

were suffering. Jill had been left back in Raccoon City, defending herself with the help of Carlos. And Claire…

Claire had sought him out. Both she and Leon had stumbled upon the atrocities of Raccoon city, and had

somehow come out of there alive. Along with Sherry, no less. While he had gone to explore leads in

Europe, Claire had taken it upon herself to look for him, and once again, exposed herself to the horrors

of an organization that was the definition of soulless.

He visibly flinched when he thought about finding her there, sprawled haphazardly under some staircase

in that compound in Antarctica. Her limbs had been immobilized due to some sort of organic adhesive,

and she had not been conscious. Reflecting back, he couldn't tell what the greater emotion had been:

undiluted joy at seeing her alive, fear that she had been compromised in more ways than one, or the

familiar unrelenting fury that she had been put in that position of captivity; that she had been put in a

position of fear.

As for that Burnside kid… Claire had taken it hard. Their return in the aftermath had been an ongoing

process of grief and recovery. Of clinging fiercely to the return to a semi-normal life, where Leon and

Sherry and Jill and this collective support network were there…and yet, experiencing days when the

grief and trauma were enough to keep her bedridden for days.

But the real healer was time. Time and an outlet to share. When he had insisted on a therapist, she had

been resistant to the idea. It didn't seem to coincide with her vision of strength or resilience, damn her.

But when he had sat her down, and explained that he had been seeing a therapist, and that each in their

little circle had been seeking their own solace in either an individual or group-setting, that stubborn set

of her jaw dissipated. With her avid journal-writing, her weekly visits to a well-respected grief-specialist,

she retained her sanity. And remained his sister.


	4. the delay

If she had truly been honest with herself, she would say that this was probably not the smartest thing in the world to be doing.

Primarily because:

A.) Marriage was kind of a concrete, serious business, and if things went sour there wasn't an easy escape plan. This she countered with her own knowledge of herself, and her need to prioritize a safe departure. That was obviously residual from being on survival mode for so long. Who had time to plan roots and debate the merits of domesticity when you weren't sure if the world was going to suffer some sort of bio-terrorism?

B.)Both Chris and herself had joked about being more spontaneous, i.e. having vigorous sex in public and/or private facilities without the slightest concern for anyone else. Apparently, this translated in to seeking the holy vows of matrimony in the sleaziest town the world. Cliché or not, it was still met this goal.

C.) Claire apparently liked to multi-task while driving… that meant driving a stick, eating an apple, with diet coke nestled on her lap, and her other hand fiddling with the radio. She could see her life ending fairly soon.

D.)But speaking of the younger Redfield, like as not, this whole Vegas scheme is going to be the catalyst for some issues… yes, the obvious man and wife issues, but also about the extent of how in the loop they would keep Claire. So far, she had been maintaining the student life successfully… and had miraculously withstood the psychological trauma that went hand in hand with dealing Umbrella. For the most part, Claire had shown the resilience to be able to reacquaint herself with real life once more.

Yet, her ignorance of certain… issues provoked occasional mediation sessions between her, Chris, and even Leon. Certainly, it couldn't go on forever, but it had been Chris's adamant demand that their actions not involve Claire further. So far, they had acquiesced.

There was a hand on her knee. It belonged to this lout of a man who seemed to sense the kind of erratic thoughts wracking through her skull. Being the in the back seat certainly had its perks… one of them was having the offer of a warm and solid body to pillow her thoughts and involuntarily beckon her eyes to close…

* * *

Carlos Oliviera was not having a good day.

Never mind the steadfast burning of his calf from a puncture wound. It was embarrassing enough that he hadn't successfully hopped over the barb wire fence as effortlessly as he once had. That was novice work. I must be getting old. Though he was more than qualified in instructing new recruits in the arts of military training, this group seemed particularly devoid of common sense. The medic had to treat four of them for blunders that most middle school kids could easily avoid.

No. He could handle the frustrations, ill-conceived actions, and ego-diminishing wounds.

What was currently pouring his rage into a thick, brimming seethe was the fact that someone had eaten his patented, beautiful turkey bagel sandwich. Someone had deliberately removed the note that had blatantly threatened disfigurement to the poor soul who removed its contents. And this was something he had fantasized about for the last hour… the carefully toasted bagel, the Dijon mustard, the generous helping of turkey and cheese… this would have been something to soothe his frayed mindset, and compensated for his low blood sugar. What remained was a sad looking crumpled bag, with the remaining butcher paper intact with perhaps a few delectable crumbs.

Alas, with his thoughts still contemplating disembowelment, his cell phone took the opportunity to ring. Without thinking, he greeted it with a snarl.

"What?"

There was momentary silence. Then a hesitant "Carlos?"

He took a breath, consciously unclenching the fist he had made of his grip. After a long exhalation, he felt a small measure of calm return. "Rebecca… Hi."

Anyone walking into the communal kitchen at this point would have been puzzled by the one-sided conversation taking place.

"Yeah, it's going fairly well…"

"Nah, that's secondary at this point…the resources are insufficient for that sort of maneuver."

"…Really? Will there be cheesecake?"

"I certainly hope it isn't a toaster."

"Yeah, that kid is a recruiter's wet dream."

"Well shit… let's do it. I'll be off at 6, so pack it in around that time. Let's see what Vegas yields."

* * *

The eventual arrival in Las Vegas had been delayed in multiple ways. As Leon eyed the right taillight, or rather, the shattered remnants of what once had been a taillight, he was reminded why the law discouraged road rage.

In this aforementioned example, Jill had been driving, and had been a consistent force of constant grace and accountability. That is until she was met by an accelerator-happy teenaged terror, who seemed to delight in riding ass for a good chunk of the road. Jill, not one to back down, took her foot off the accelerator in order to slowly decrease their speed… and to delight in the deranged look of irritation the driver behind her exuded.

This continued for all of two minutes… until their vehicle drifted below fifty. That was when they felt the gentle, but undeniable tap of another bumper behind them.

"Holy shit… are they **prodding** us?" Jill shrieked, looking remarkably less collected. The three passengers seemed to have their own ideas for how to deal with the situation. Chris wanted something to the effect of pulling up beside them and to make idle threats with his gun. Leon suggested pulling over and getting their license plate; as a police officer, he could certainly attend to the official sanctions that followed this type of behavior. Claire continued to verbally disparage the car, flipping them off, and occasionally yelling deprecating comments.

It was settled when they felt yet another tap on their bumper; this time much more pronounced.

"That's it." Without another word, Jill slammed on her breaks, delighting in the accompanying squeal of tires. They felt an obvious hit, and a cringe-worthy crunch. That was when they finally pulled over; the car behind them following appropriately.

* * *

San Francisco had yielded many things: marinated Bok Choy, acquiring assorted boxes of nag champa incense, and a chance for Chris to make a few much needed phone calls. The left Leon and Claire to fend for themselves. Their activities consisted of perusing the aisles of the City of Lights bookstore, drinking bubble tea, and buying enough Ghirardelli chocolate to put an adolescent to shame.

Finally settling on one of the piers, they took turns breaking off mammoth sections of chocolate, making acute observations of the passing tourists. Claire was immediately drawn to a frumpy, middle-aged woman dressed in a muumuu the color of raw fish.

"Her name is Mildred. She was once paid ten dollars to suck on the end of the exhaust pipe of her mother's '57 beetle. She enjoys national geographic, banana milkshakes, and midget mud wrestling." Claire took a sip of her bubble tea, deciding that she could live without the tapioca.

Leon looked thoughtfully at the potential tourists, settling his gaze on a seventeen year old kid with intricate sleeve tattoos and a labret piercing.

"This is Leopold. He spends the majority of his existence indoors, playing RPG and looking at European sodomy magazines. He is outside today to acquire his weekly allowance of weed, and his hobbies include arm wrestling toddlers." Claire chuckled, helping herself to another helping of chocolate.

They continued this activity for a good half an hour when their chuckles were interrupted by the shrill sound of Leon's cell phone. He apologized, then promptly stood up to walk a distance away. Claire wondered if the kid had a vast assortment of women admirers that made it their business to call him at all hours of the day. Embarrassed at her the new development of her thoughts, she promptly squelched the rest of that lineup.


End file.
